


Half-full

by junkshopdisco



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex Performed on Inanimate Object, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/pseuds/junkshopdisco
Summary: When Bradley drunkenly challenges Colin to deep throat a bottle, he doesn't expect that he'llactuallydo it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Absolutely 100% fictional and simply the product of my twisted imagination. No offence is intended, and similarity to any actions, relationships and events in the real world is entirely coincidental.  
>  **Note:** 3000 wordsish. Potentially this is the only thing I’ve ever written that needs the label: don’t try this at home, kids ~~try it at parties where it will make impressionable boys fall instantly in lust with you~~.
> 
> I wasn’t actually going to fess to this, but I originally wrote this for the prompt _Bradley dares Colin to deep throat a bottle and then gets majorly turned on by it_ at kinkme_merlin. Just after I posted it I got a comment reply elsewhere from sabriel75 saying, ‘so I saw that thing you wrote with Colin and the bottle’, which prompted a ‘HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME?!/It was obvious’ exchange and made me realise I sort of fail at being anon. And then she said, ‘you know what, though? NEEDS MOAR FLESH’ and so for her, because she asked so nicely, I expanded it and made it a bit dirtier (shifting the blame: ask me how).

They’ve all been out to a bar for someone on the crew’s birthday, and he and Colin are both kind of drunk and as usual the last ones standing. Or not standing, so much, because they’re in Bradley’s hotel room, sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa, nursing two beers and for some reason that Bradley can’t remember, throwing M&Ms at each other. He catches one in his mouth, tosses his final one back at Colin, and Colin’s mouth captures it, but the angle or velocity must have been different to what he was expecting because his eyes widen as he swallows it whole. Bradley laughs and mutters an apology, and because Colin’s drunk he meets his eye and says, ‘S’alright. I deep throated it,’ and sniggers into a swig of his beer.

Bradley’s always been sort of curious about Colin and boys, and because he’s drunk enough to let it drift to the surface he says, ‘Do you do that?’

Colin considers him with a slight squint as if he almost can’t believe he’s asked, but after a moment his expression turns amused and he says, ‘Yeah, actually. It’s no big deal.’

Bradley raises his eyebrows in a _beg to differ_ , and Colin looks away, but rather than seeming embarrassed he smirks, and so on a whim Bradley says, ‘Prove it.’  
‘What, you want someone’s number to call or something? Someone who can verify my story?’  
‘No.’

Bradley points at his bottle, and Colin looks at him with his head cocked, trying to work out if he’s joking. Bradley’s not actually sure himself, but apparently Colin decides that he’s serious because he tuts, rolls his eyes and says, ‘Give me yours, then.’  
‘What?’  
‘Well mine’s half-full. I’ve no objections to swallowing but there’s a certain – volume limit, and I don’t really want to choke to death.’ Colin sits up, and in mock perfect seriousness adds, ‘I mean I’m thinking of you, mostly, because that’d be a hell of a thing for you to have to explain to my family. My mum’d probably dig me out of the ground and reanimate me herself, just so she could slap me in the face and call me a whore. And that is nothing - _nothing_ \- compared to what she’d do to you if she found out it was your idea.’

Bradley laughs, and Colin gestures for his empty bottle, so Bradley hands it over. What he expects to happen is that Colin’ll make some kind of joke, token effort, but what actually happens is that Colin shifts onto his knees, ends up much closer than he was, and looks at the bottle with a, ‘You know, normally I expect dinner first.’

The fact that Colin might _actually_ do it had never really occurred to him, and so he’s completely unprepared when Colin’s tongue flickers out of his mouth and runs over his lips. Before his brain can process it and work out if he’s rapt because he’s drunk or because of what’s about to happen or if Colin just has a particularly interesting tongue, Colin lifts the bottle and presses that oh-so-very interesting tongue to the base of its neck, dragging it slowly to the top. He meets Bradley’s eye as he takes it in his mouth, and the air in the room abruptly turns really, really heavy.

It should be funny. He knows it should, but as Colin’s lips slip down the bottle neck, back up, down further, all the muscles in Bradley’s stomach tighten and it gets really difficult to breathe. The glass is clear, and he can see Colin’s tongue pressing and shifting against it, caressing the curve, and he can’t help but imagine what it feels like. It happens in his head before he can stop it, and it’s no longer cold glass disappearing into the dark, wet, warmth of Colin’s mouth it’s his own flesh. As soon as he thinks it the image won’t budge, flickers insistently, Colin’s mouth filled with his cock, his lips shifting in the excruciating tease he’s demonstrating on the bottle and driving him slowly insane. 

He knows it’s just the product of drunken, foggy thought, but that doesn’t help because his reaction is all too real, his jeans feeling too small, his lungs only able to drag in shallow, tiny breaths. He holds perfectly still, terrified that if he moves his body will give him away and Colin’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. He tries to swallow, make it disappear, but his mouth is suddenly arid and apparently all of the bits of him that aren’t his cock have forgotten how to work. 

Colin holds his gaze, and when he reaches the base of the bottle neck he sort of grins in triumph, drags his tongue back up the glass and swirls it around the top. He raises one eyebrow in a _see?_ , and Bradley just sits there, pressing himself purposefully into the sofa and completely unable to think of anything but what he’s just seen and the hot, taut sensation deep in his stomach. 

Colin drops the bottle and it hits the carpet with a little thud, reaches for his abandoned beer and takes a swig, and the ordinariness of it - of _him_ when he’s just done _that_ – somehow makes the clench in Bradley’s stomach worse. It’s _blasé_ is what it is, and his thoughts shift to, _fuck, if he can do that without really trying, what the hell’s he like when he is?_ He tries to shake his head and bring some other thought back, something that _isn’t_ the look of Colin’s perfect curved mouth around the bottle, but all he can find to replace it with is a vague, intangible emotion that’s perplexingly like envy for an inanimate object.

Colin looks at him, his head on one side and his expression amused as he says, ‘Are you all right? You look sort of – shocked.’ His laughter is breathy and he adds, ‘Don’t tell me a girl never did that to you?’

When Bradley finds some words they’re a far-too-honest, ‘Not intentionally,’ and Colin laughs, properly this time.  
‘Oh you’re like that, are you? Next time you manage to find a girlfriend, remind me to give her some ideas for keeping you in line.’  
‘What?’  
‘Oh, well there’s – I mean when you’re going down on a guy there’s _stuff_ you can do to sort of stay in control even when he starts to lose it. It’s – better when it’s not just, like, someone fucking your mouth.’

Bradley swallows deeply, willing himself to forget the way Colin says the word _fucking_ and the image it creates. It’s the very last thing he needs to be thinking about, but the more he tries to will it away the more detailed and graphic his thoughts get and the more his stomach tightens and his breath disappears. He thinks about Colin’s tongue, warm and pink and urgent, and digs his fingernails into the sofa cushion in an effort to focus his thoughts elsewhere. 

It doesn’t work. It really, _really_ doesn’t work.

Colin sets his beer down, his expression turning almost puzzled. ‘Seriously, are you all right?’ he says. ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my stupid blow job opinions. Ignore me. You usually do.’  
‘You – didn’t.’

Bradley shifts, and Colin’s gaze drops to his lap, to the undeniable bulge. He looks back up quickly, his eyes wide as he says, ‘Oh.’ He adds a sheepish half-grin, follows it with, ‘And I didn’t really mean to make you uncomfortable like that, either.’

Bradley manages a small, stuttering laugh, but the heaviness of the room races back, and when he doesn’t say anything it deepens until he feels stifled and almost crushed by the weight of the air. Colin looks at him, the sheepishness and amusement fading, replaced by something that has distinct if hard to define possibility in it, and Bradley just stares at him, no idea what his eyes are saying. Colin inches closer, his gaze a cautious question, one that Bradley can’t answer because he can’t do anything except keep pulling small pockets of air into his lungs. 

It’s not exactly unexpected when Colin’s lips touch his, but Bradley doesn’t kiss him back, unable to make out enough of Colin’s face to tell what he’s thinking, if it’s a joke or really, really not. He doesn’t push him away, though, and Colin’s lips hover, not quite kissing him but not quite not either, breath a hot tickle on his skin as it mingles with his. After a moment it occurs to him that if it was a joke Colin would have laughed by now, and so Bradley inches into another kiss, letting his tongue just touch Colin’s bottom lip and draw it into his mouth. He feels Colin smile and so he does it again, and as kisses go, it’s kind of small and contained and a bit timid but still reverberates in his gut. 

The kiss that follows is slightly more involved, tongues bolder, Colin’s fingers on his chin so he can fit their mouths together better, and it’s deep enough for Bradley to tell that Colin tastes like beer and chocolate and nuts, which he thinks is so perfectly Colin even though he doesn’t recall ever giving it any thought. Colin’s lips are pliant and warm and make sensation trickle into his stomach and furl, and the tension that’s already in his body builds until his kisses turn sort of desperate against Colin’s mouth. Colin eases back but only a little, still so close that when he glances down and says, ‘Do you want me to?’ the words nudge against Bradley’s mouth, a scuff of lip on lip that makes a frantic craving thunk in his veins. He wants to say yes – or more likely _oh god yes_ – because what he’s suggesting – the thought of Colin’s mouth – 

But all he can do is drag in a deep breath that seems impossibly loud. Colin murmurs, ‘I’d like to, if you’d like me to,’ the sound little more than vibration on his lips, and as if there’s any doubt what he means his tongue presses in a gentle coax against the place where his words were. Bradley moans. Colin grins lazily and kisses him again, first on the mouth but moving to his jaw and along to his ear. When he gets there he says quietly, ‘I’m going to take that as a yes. If it’s not a yes, you just tell me to stop, ok?’

Bradley manages an approximation of a nod but his head forgets what it’s doing as soon as Colin’s lips fix on his neck and start to move down. Colin slips off the sofa and onto the floor between his knees, steadying himself on his thighs, and when his hands move up towards Bradley’s hips they’re strong and purposeful. He slides down on the sofa a little and Colin pushes his t shirt up, dips his head and makes his way down his stomach in a trail of kisses that leave hot, shivery sensation in their wake. The hotel and the entire world seems to still and fall quiet, and when Colin undoes the button on his jeans Bradley lets his head fall back, clenches his fists against the cushions and breathes anticipation at the ceiling. Colin’s deft at freeing him from his clothes, and everything feels entirely not real, like his mind might be lost in some drunken fantasy and supplying vivid details to torment him with in the morning. 

Colin’s fingers brush against him and they’re slightly cold, wrap around and angle him towards his mouth. Even though Bradley knows what’s coming, when Colin’s breath flits across his skin and his tongue presses against his cock his whole body responds, collapsing in on itself somewhere behind his bellybutton. Colin doesn’t give him time to adjust to the sensation or the idea that it’s actually really happening, does exactly what he did to the bottle, licking his way slowly to the tip and taking him in his mouth. It’s better than the details supplied by his imagination. Colin’s tongue is insistent as it caresses the underside and deliberately teases the tip, and for a moment he forgets to breathe. When he does, it’s a frantic gasp that makes everything intensify, and Bradley digs his fingers into the sofa in an effort to stop himself coming like an over-excited fourteen year old. 

He can’t resist looking at Colin, watches as his lips stretch and inch down, and if he didn’t already feel woozy with arousal that would do it, because the combination of sensation, the warmth and the wetness, the texture and the pressure and the image is – 

‘Oh god.’

He doesn’t mean to say it, and Colin glances up through his eyelashes, meets his eye. He looks unabashed and sort of pleased with himself, and Bradley swallows and retreats inside his eyelids in an effort to gain back his admittedly tentative control. When he realises that the sound of himself sliding along Colin’s tongue is no less exhilarating than the sight he knows he’s pretty much done for, so he lets his head loll against the back of the sofa and gives in to the compulsion to rock up into Colin’s mouth, his breath increasingly heavy and hitching. 

Colin’s response is to stroke his stomach, matching the pace of his mouth, and Bradley has no idea how he knows, but he finds the _exact_ spot where all the sensations culminate and makes everything blur by dragging the back of his knuckles across it. Colin draws his tongue slowly up his cock and swirls it around the tip before tightening his lips and sliding all the way back down again, firm and just quick enough to be absolutely excruciatingly wonderful, and after that he can no longer separate it out, cause and effect, Colin’s mouth, Colin’s fingers, the taut, urgent feeling that he wants at once to race into and prolong. But prolonging it isn’t really an option because Colin’s too damn good at this. His back arches and he manages to get out the words, ‘I’m going to – ’ before he comes with a strangled gasp that teeters on the brink of becoming a needy assertion wrapped around Colin’s name.

For a moment he can’t do anything but breathe in and out and try to stop his heart from leaping at the front of his chest, and he stares at the ceiling – or the shapes dancing in front of the ceiling – and tries to remember how to focus. When he manages a thought it’s that Colin was apparently good as his word on swallowing, and he has no idea what the emotion for any of it is, if he should be embarrassed or grateful or awkward or some combination of all of those. He’s too dazed with beer and orgasm to really care, though, and so he stays exactly where he is and just waits to see what’ll happen. 

Colin pushes off his thighs to get up, falls onto the sofa next to him with an _ouff_ , and it’s not quite _blasé_ but actually not far off. Bradley looks at him through a drowsy squint, and even though he can feel the warm pressure of his leg and his arm _right there_ against his, it’s a surprise how close he is. His smile is sort of hesitant, and so Bradley rolls his eyes and says, ‘Holy fuck, Colin,’ which makes Colin collapse into a laugh and bury his face in his shoulder. 

They stay like that even after Colin’s laughter has dwindled and his breathing’s returned to normal, and it’s through a haze of incipient sleep that Colin eventually says, ‘You all right?’ like it’s all one word. He can’t quite think of an answer, and so he kisses the top of Colin’s head, letting his lips linger on his hair, hoping that will suffice.

When he wakes up he’s alone on the sofa with his jeans still undone, underneath a blanket he doesn’t remember fetching. It seems a reasonable assumption that he fell asleep and Colin covered him with it before he left, and he lets the thought just sit while everything else unfogs. 

He remembers it all, but the thing that he thinks is really going to linger isn’t a detail attached to what happened, but a thought about Colin himself, something he hadn’t realised before. Colin’s a strange combination of things that shouldn’t fit, sort of shy and really daring, unpredictable and somehow safe, so very gentle and yet sort of wild, too.

Those two words stick, wild and gentle, and as he blinks at the dawn, he cannot get the thought of how much he likes that out of his head.


End file.
